I Wanna Be Your Dog
by Leisure
Summary: Named after that song by Iggy & the Stooges...This is what happens when Batman burns out and Bruce Wayne's compassion gets the better of him. Because sometimes good people make bad decisions for selfish reasons.
1. Cop Killer

A/N: Goddamn pervy deviantartists. i swore i'd never write Dark Knight fic. But then i discovered all their *beautiful* Batman/Joker fanart and now...this. Just like all my other fics, every chapter is named after a song for some reason. It sure would be peachy if you've listened to the said song at least once, but it's not like, necessary.

Also, i have edited chapters 1-3 to match the style of the other chapters. Which means no quotations or capital i's and long, rambling sentences. i didn't fuck up- it's a stylistic choice, folks. And i didn't even come up with it; lots of authors write this way. And i had to change Bruce's daddy's car from a 1976 Ford Mustang Cobra II to a 1965 Ford Galaxie.

Rated M for everything, eventually...

* * *

Cop Killer: Body Count

It had been almost three weeks, and he was still at large. He'd escaped from Arkham a month after he was re-committed, and Gotham had once gain plunged neatly into chaos. To make matters worse, the Gotham police force had officially and understandably condemned Batman- so neither party had the other's support. They both fought alone. And despite the fact that the Joker was still blowing up buildings and murdering countless people and terrorizing the city, nobody could track him down- until Bruce Wayne caught up with him on Highway 93 in mid December.

At 11:25 PM, Wayne was still cruising down the highway in his father's 1965 Ford Galaxie, listening to Penny Lane on the radio station that pandered strictly to Gotham's hippies. The song ended at precisely 11:28 PM, after which Wayne tuned into the stolen police scanner and found out that the Joker had set the police station on fire and driven off in an armored car. Heading towards Highway 93. Which meant that Wayne had no choice but to struggle into his spare suit in the back of the car and pray like hell that nobody saw him.

And when the Joker finally rolled up on him, they did battle just like always and Wayne fought courageously in the name of Justice but nobody could deny that he was breaking down. He didn't even know what he was fighting for anymore.

And they were still there out in the cold clawing at each other's throats. The Joker was reaching for his AK again when Wayne pulled him up by his collar and forced him against the hood of the car. He really knew better than to let the rage take over but by the first punch he was fucked. He'd lost control. So for the next two minutes Wayne let it take over he stood in the middle of the highway, punching the Joker harder than he'd ever punched anyone. He couldn't stop when his breath caught in his lungs and his knuckles were split and bleeding inside his gloves. He couldn't stop.

The Joker sat there and smiled and took it. He didn't fight back. Not even when Wayne backhanded him like he was a worthless whore and he crashed to the icy pavement.

It was when Wayne lost his breath and let up for a split second that the Joker pulled him down by his cape and pointed a hunting knife at his eye. Because the knife was about eight inches long and hovering literally a hair's breadth above his eyeball, Wayne had no choice but to lie still as the Joker knelt on top of him, pinning his arms to his sides. The Joker just smiled at him smiled and pushed the barrel of a nickel-plated .45 under his chin.

You're a slow learner, you know that? He was breathing hard and his chest hitched when he inhaled and half of his face was completely covered in blood. And although the Joker never gave indication that he was in any sort of pain, Wayne had to smile because he really did look like shit. The Joker moved the blade of the knife so that the point was resting on Wayne's lower lip. There were sirens in the distance. See, i've been in this game a lot longer than you have, sport, he drawled, tilting the knife back and forth. But this isn't Monopoly money we're playing with.

You're monologuing, Wayne remarked. The Joker laughed. His trenchcoat was ripped open at the shoulder, revealing a dark bullet wound just above his collarbone.

Why did the Batman cross the street?

What- are you high.

Not anymore. i took a bump before we left, but…The Joker sighed dramatically. The approaching cop cars cast the two of them in red and blue light blinding them.

Goddamn pigs. The Joker shook his hair out of his eyes. Anyway…i'm not ready to call it quits just yet. We can do this some other time, okay? Before Wayne could think of a snappy comeback, the Joker flipped the knife around and jammed the handle into his jaw.

It hurt more than the last time he got stabbed. For a second Wayne couldn't even move and as he lay there, the Joker stood up and made a break for the car. Wayne scrambled after him but the pain in his jaw was crippling and he stumbled. Then the cops showed up and made matters worse. They always did.

He got to his feet as the Joker emptied two clips in the direction of the police cars and scattered the cops across the highway. Wayne didn't know whether to fight or take off, but he couldn't very well take the Joker down with a storm of bullets in his way. So for once, Wayne sat back behind the wreck of the armored car and watched the Joker work. There were about ten cops with five cars between them, with more on the way. But, like Batman, the Joker was accustomed to being outnumbered. In less than three minutes, the rest of the officers were either dead or wounded and the Joker had peeled out in a cop car, leaving Wayne sitting alone on the highway. He could hear the sirens screaming.

Shit. Wayne dragged himself to his feet. He really didn't feel up to taking on ten more of Gotham's finest. Not when he was worn out and his knuckles were bleeding and every breath he took was so cold that it burned his lungs. So he ran.

_i can't do this anymore._ Wayne knew how dangerous it was to think that way. He knew it.


	2. I Trust You To Kill Me

I Trust You To Kill Me: Rocco DeLuca & The Burden

At 12:30 AM, Wayne was still driving around in his father's incredibly conspicuous car, trying to make it home before someone saw him. He didn't expect to come across the wrecked police car, high-centered in the middle of the road. There was a thin trail of blood leading away from it across the street. Wayne parked his car at the edge of the street and stared at the trail for a minute before he started following it.

The Joker was stumbling down an alleyway off Second. He was almost through the alley when he stumbled and pitched forward onto the ground. He lay still for a moment before he dragged himself up. Wayne waited for him to reach for a weapon, but he didn't. He didn't even move as Wayne approached. He just leaned against the wall, coughing. A beam from a streetlight cut through the gap in the two buildings, casting a thin slat of light over his face. The Joker stared back at him and raised his eyebrows.

Hey, sport- you've just caught Gotham's most dangerous criminal…what are you going to do next?

i'm considering my options.

Your options. The Joker laughed weakly. And those are. He gagged suddenly and doubled over on the ground. His knees hit the asphalt hard. Wayne rotated his forearm and inspected the metal blades sticking out of his armor. The edges were sharp enough to cut to the bone, he'd made sure of that.

What i'd really like to do is cut a hole in your throat and watch you bleed out.

Would you now. The Joker grinned. Well, shit. That's a pretty reasonable thing to want. He raised himself up on his knees. Go ahead, knock yourself out. Wayne looked at him.

Come _on_, you dumb fucking freak, he growled. i haven't got all night. Wayne rested his forefinger on the trigger.

i don't want to break the only rule i have over a wreck like you.

Fuck your rules, fuck your principles, and fuck _you_, the Joker snarled. Go ahead and act like you're above the rest of us, but writing your own tragic hero code of conduct isn't going to save you. As i recall, Dent was a man of principal too. He laughed and his face shone he laughed and his face shone electric.

This city is still standing because of him, Wayne retorted.

Well i hate to break it to you, but he's in the ground now, the Joker said. He was just another bad joke. Like you. And the longer _you_ pussyfoot around and fuck it all up, the longer _i'll_ be here, until Gotham's knee-deep in shit and shotgun shells. Or i might get tired of you and put a bullet in your head...The Joker's voice trailed off and he started coughing again. It sounded like his chest was caving in on itself. Anyway, it's your choice.

It's _my _choice? Wayne didn't look at him.

It sure is, sugar pie, the Joker said. You know that. He tried to stand up, but his legs gave out and he sank back to the ground. Wayne looked at him sitting there in the snow.

You deserve far worse than anything that i could do to you, Wayne remarked. The Joker looked at him with drowning eyes. And then he slumped back. Resigned. Wayne waited for him to stand up, but he did not try again. He didn't even try. Wayne looked at him. His bottom lip was split and thick red ropes of blood ran down his chest the cops had hit him at least once. He was shivering. He'd been shot.

Wayne turned around and walked away. He walked back to his car and put the key in the ignition and turned the radio on.

The Joker deserved to suffer. He deserved it. He'd killed so many innocent people that any god would deem him Unforgivable. He was too far gone. But even if the Joker bled to death in the alley that night and order was restored in Gotham and the People joined together in celebration, they would still hate Batman. They would still hunt him and criticize him and badger the cops to bring him down until the next master criminal arrived and declared war on the city and the whole thing started all over again. In the end, Batman would still end up hated and alone.

Wayne wasn't really sure why he drove his car back to the alley, but before he realized it he was standing in front of the Joker again. Making poor decisions. The Joker didn't speak or look up at him.

Get up. Wayne grabbed the Joker's arm and pulled him to his feet. He didn't resist at all- he seemed to be having trouble just staying conscious.

What are you doing?

i have no idea. Wayne took out a pair of handcuffs and pulled the joker's hands together behind his back. The joker smiled as the metal tightened around his wrists.

Hm, that's nice.

You're really sick, Wayne muttered under his breath. You've got problems.

Bat fetish fuck telling me i have problems, the Joker said softly. He snapped his head back suddenly, catching Wayne in the jaw. He hit the spot that was already bruising and the pain crackled up the side of Wayne's face. His knees buckled but he didn't fall. The Joker tried to pull away, but Wayne punched the bullet wound on his arm a few times and he stopped struggling.

Don't do that again, Wayne said. He dragged the Joker back to the car and fished the keys out of his coat. Get in the car.

i don't get in the car with strangers, the Joker protested, digging his heels into the ground.

i'm not a stranger. Wayne slammed the Joker's forehead into the window and shoved him into the backseat. He did not speak or fight back again; he just sank down he sank against the seat and closed his eyes. Wayne slammed the door shut and got into the driver's seat. He could feel his heart beating at the back of his throat.

Bruce Wayne sat in his father's car half a mile from the penthouse with his arch nemesis in the back seat and he wondered what the fuck he was going to do. The left side of his face was throbbing and his lungs ached when he breathed and he was still hung over.

Wayne put the key in the ignition and turned it and the engine purred.

Listen to that, the Joker mumbled. She's whispering. Wayne almost smiled. Why were you driving this car around in the snow? The Joker asked.

i…don't know, Wayne said. The Joker grinned.

She's too beautiful for you.

You're right. Wayne put the car in gear and started driving.


	3. This Devil's Workday

This Devil's Workday: Modest Mouse

The Joker was out cold by the time Wayne pulled into the garage. Outside the wind was picking up again and stirring up the snowdrifts and sheets of snow floated across the road like ghosts. Wayne turned the car off and sat for a moment with his head resting on the steering wheel and listened to the silence. He didn't hear enough silence anymore. He hurt for it and still hurt for it and he breathed it in. The utter stupidity of his actions was beginning to dawn on him he breathed it in.

He breathed the cold in and admitted that he'd made his life even more spectacularly complicated than it was before. His previous mentor and/or temporary arch nemesis had once told him that his compassion was his weakness. And so it was. So it fucking was. Wayne took a deep breath and counted to five and out of the car. He had to count to five again and count to five again before he could open the passenger door.

The Joker was sitting with his head propped up against the window. His breathing was shallow and ragged and it seemed like he was going into shock. Wayne stood there looking at him, thinking about what his father would've said about the red stains on the seats. He was going into shock.

Fuck. Wayne grabbed the collar of the Joker's coat and dragged him out of the car. He briefly considered leaving his nemesis lying in a heap on the concrete and walking away like nothing had happened. But he couldn't. So despite his exhaustion and hangover and utter disgust with what he was doing, Wayne managed to get the Joker out of the garage and into the elevator. Outside the snowdrifts floated on and he breathed the cold in.

Wayne had a meeting in seven hours. He couldn't remember exactly what the meeting in question entailed, or what he was supposed to talk about, but he did know that the corporate clones at Wayne Enterprises weren't the ones sitting in his bathroom at two in the morning at two in the morning on a Sunday on the Lord's Day up to their elbows in blood. A bullet had grazed the Joker's ribs and the wound was proving to be a real bleeder and he was still dangerously close to being hypothermic. His skin was bleached white beneath the paint blood splattered and bleached white.

But once Wayne had dosed the Joker up on morphine and got the bleeding under control and turned up the heater, he took a moment to get some painkillers into his own bloodstream. His jaw was bruising and throbbing like hell's fire like someone had driven a nail into the bone and it was killing him. He popped two Percocet and taped up his knuckles and left the Joker lying on the bathroom floor, still unconscious and drugged all to hell.

Wayne decided that he had about half an hour before the Percocet kicked in, so he locked the bedroom down with every high-tech security device he owned and collapsed on the sofa in the living room. As he lay there, the oxycodone crept into his bloodstream and sent his head spinning and for a while he stared at the ceiling and listened to his iPod and forgot what a clusterfuck his life had become. He drifted off halfway his head spinning through The White Album before he started to wonder what the hell he had done and what it meant and what the hell he was going to do next.

* * *

A/N: So this chapter contains the first (but certainly not the last) instance of prescription drug use. i don't think that many of you will have a problem with this, but i just figured i'd warn you. Personally, i think that prescription drugs are far, far more harmful to people than natural ones. Cheech and Chong and are still alive, folks. Heath Ledger is not. So stay away from drugs, kiddies…and if you can't do that, at least stick to ones that grow outta the ground. Seriously.


	4. Hello, Operator

A/N: So i'll be making some stylistic changes throughout the whole story because i can't leave well enough alone. And this fic as a whole really lacked style, i think…and yes, the diction is supposed to be all messed up. With no quotations. i know that. As always, thank you to those of you who read/favorite/review. Thank you.

* * *

Hello, Operator: The White Stripes

When he woke up, it was snowing again. Falling full and thick and deep. He didn't mind the snow much because it muffled the constant roar that rose up from the city the constant roar that rose up. The Percocet was still running strong but he could only count on two more hours before the pain crept up on him again. It was hard to sit up like someone was holding him back against the cushions like there was a weight on his chest. Dragging him down. When he flipped the switch the light rocked off the walls and he had to sit with his eyes closed until he adjusted.

Wayne found a sweatshirt on the floor and pulled it over his head and stood at his bedroom door, opening the locks. There were five of them in all. He opened the locks and walked across his bedroom floor across the shag carpet into the bathroom when he walked in he was just himself without the mask or anything to hide behind and he couldn't hide. He didn't even care anymore he was so tired of keeping up the whole secret identity charade because at the end of the day he was still a man and only a man.

The Joker was sprawled out on the floor, staring at the ceiling. He rolled his head to the side and glanced at Wayne and rolled back smiling.

Bruce fucking Wayne, he murmured. That explains the car, don't it? His wrists were rubbed raw and bleeding. Wayne crossed the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. He was out of rubbing alcohol. The Joker was watching him with narrowed eyes and he couldn't hide.

Driving that beautiful thing around in the _fucking_ snow…

i know, i'm a terrible person, Wayne said, taking a bottle of hydrogen peroxide down from the shelf. That bullet hole in your arm is going to need stitches. The Joker was lying there cold and damp and dirty and still looking at him. Through him.

And why do you suddenly give a damn. the Joker asked. Wayne shrugged.

i don't know, he said. The Joker chuckled.

Went to all this trouble and you don't even know...

Maybe i didn't have a plan, Wayne said. Surely you can relate to that. The Joker's eyes narrowed again. Cold and damp and dirty staring him down and he could not hide.

At least i've got reasons. What've you got, Bruce Wayne? i mean, besides a fuckin' God complex… Wayne ran his hands through his hair.

Look, let's discuss this later. It's four in the morning.

Is it. Shit. Time flies.

It sure does, Wayne said. Now i'm going back to sleep before i pass out. There's a couch in the other room, if you want…i don't care. i have to go to sleep. The Joker smiled.

Nope, i'm good here.

Really.

Sure. There's heated floors.

i got those installed in the fall. When i started passing out in here on a weekly basis. Wayne pulled a box of gauze out of the cabinet and hit the dimmer switch until the light bulb cast out a glow that didn't reach down to the floor.

i'm locking the door.

Okay.

Christ, you're cooperative tonight. Wayne studied the dim outline that separated the Joker from the wall and the floor. i thought you would've at least taken a swing at me by now.

It's the morphine, the Joker mumbled.

Right. i forgot.

You should have left me there, the Joker called after him.

Wayne didn't answer, he just shut the door and locked it and stood on the other side looking at the space under the door. The space was black like the bathroom light was off but he knew that it wasn't quite. Almost, but not quite.


	5. Daylight

"_I could zig zag and zig 'em again for the badge dream sparkle in my brick wall windows_

_Another thick installment of one night in Gotham without the wretched 'Houston we have a problem' attached to the festive batch of city goblins."_

_-_Daylight: Aesop Rock

* * *

Wayne hung around the living room watching television until the dark receded dull gray light from the winter sun reached in through the shades. When he breathed in his heart fluttered and sped up for a moment before it settled back down and the dampness of his shirt sent chills crawling across his skin. His father's car with the red stains on the back seats. Wayne sat up and pulled his T-shirt off over his head and his heartbeat fluttered. He leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes and waited for the spins to stop he turned off the television and breathed slowly and waited until he didn't have to fight it and he could stand up. The pain hadn't come back yet but by morning it would creep up as the oxycodone worked its way out.

Wayne pulled another T-shirt out from under the coffee table and put it on. It smelled like sandalwood and classy skank like the girls he brought home in his father's car like the girls who sucked him off while he sat on the couch and listened to the radio.

There was bottle of Kaidan on the coffee table and a half empty bottle of water with the goldfish on it. He picked them up and walked across the room to his bedroom door and as he walked the city light trickled in through the shades across the carpet and his shadow followed alongside. He opened the locks on the door and walked into his bedroom to face what he had to face just to get it over with before the painkillers wore off and the guilt and the regret sunk back in. His father's car with the red stains on the back seats.

The Joker was sprawled out on the sofa with an unlit cigarette dangling from his fingers. The paint around his eyes had run and pulled streaks of black down his cheeks and the side of his face was covered in dried blood. He lifted his head and looked Wayne over. There was a clarity in his eyes that the morphine had taken away. But it was wearing off.

You here to interrogate me? He asked, smiling.

Yeah, you'd love that, wouldn't you. Wayne muttered, opening the bottle. He took a single pill and held it out. Take this. The Joker eyed the pill doubtfully.

It's Kadian, Wayne said. The Joker's eyes flicked up to him and back down to the pill in his hand and up again. Look, Wayne said, i don't want to fight. And i don't want to. Hurt you. He sat down in the chair closest to the fire and ran his hands through his sweat slicked hair.

Then why are you doing this. The growl in the Joker's voice was coming back as the morphine wore off. What _do_ you want? He asked. Wayne considered this.

i want a time out.

W-what? The Joker laughed. Haven't had one of those since the second fucking grade. He coughed and it sounded deep and when he breathed in his lungs crackled.

Look, Wayne said, for the past three weeks, all we've done is rattle around the city tearing each other to shreds. i look like shit, i feel like shit…and i can't keep fighting day after day after day. i'm not like you. The Joker raised his eyebrows.

What do you mean.

i want a truce, Wayne said. _i'm not like you._

A truce? The Joker spat. Are you nuts.

i'm starting to think so, Wayne said softly, more to himself than the Joker. Listen, if you want to settle this, we'll settle it, but all i ask is that you give me a few days off. Then we can go on beating the Christ out of each other until we're both dead. i don't care. The Joker cocked his head. He kept picking at the scabs on his arms.

If you want to get rid of me, then just turn me over to the pigs, he said. It's that simple.

They can't handle you.

You're right. A smug little smirk had settled into the Joker's mouth. He interlaced his fingers with the cigarette still between them and stretched his arms out until his shoulders popped and the handcuffs clinked metallic.

And you know who i am, Wayne pointed out. That changes everything.

That is your fault, the Joker said.

It is. Wayne looked back at him into the glare. But i've told you what i want. That's all i want. _i'm not like you. _The Joker wasn't smiling anymore but he still seemed amused. There were two perfect rings of purple bruises encircling his wrists and he picked at the little cuts where the metal had dug in too hard.

So what do you intend to do with me. i don't think you've thought this whole thing through very well. That's not like you.

i'm going to put you back in Arkham.

Great fucking plan, Bruce Wayne, the Joker chuckled. It only took me three weeks to get out…i'll do it again. You can't stop me. He started coughing harder and it sounded deep.

This is true, Wayne said. Do you want to go back there. The Joker shrugged.

i don't care. All my stuff's there.

i don't even know if it's worth the time, Wayne said quietly. Really.

My toothbrush…my…Best of INXS…

i could always keep you locked up in the garage until i decide. Wayne tossed the Kadian bottle back and forth in his hands. The Joker nodded.

You could. You could do that.

Yeah, but i don't think i will, Wayne said. That's _my_ agenda and my motherfucking intentions. The Joker squinted his eyes and looked at Wayne like he was trying to see through him.

What in the hell are you on.

Percocet, Wayne said, tapping his jaw. i think you bruised the bone.

That's what i was aiming for, sport.

Really. Wayne leaned back in the chair with the bottle in his hand and watched the fire cast shadows across the floor.

You know that once i can stand, i'll find a way out, right? The Joker said lazily. Or you could just let me go if that would be easier for you-

No, Wayne said, holding up an empty vial. You're not leaving. Sergeant Morphine will see to that.

Sergeant Morphine. The Joker's eyes lit up.

That's him.

Jesus. The Joker glanced down at the needle punches in his arms. We go way back, he and i.

i believe you.

So if you're not letting me leave, does that make me a prisoner? The Joker asked. Wayne considered this.

Yeah, i guess so. The Joker smiled. It was the kind of smile that was dirty and his face shone electric. In that case, that's fine. He settled back against the arm of the sofa with his arms above his head. What happens after this.

i haven't thought about that yet, Wayne said. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Fair enough. The Joker stretched out and shook his hair out of his eyes dripping black down his cheeks. Look…you didn't have to kill me, he said. But you didn't have to save me. Wayne's throat tightened up.

i know. But i couldn't just…leave.

Yes, the Joker said. Yes you could have.

i guess i realized something.

What? A chill crawled up Wayne's spine even though the thermostat read 78 he still felt cold.

i don't know.

You are screwed, Bruce Wayne, the Joker said. You have painted yourself into a corner. Just- know that.

Believe me, Wayne said, i do. Now take this. He dropped the pill into the Joker's hand and held out the bottle of water. The Joker held it between his thumb and forefinger and inspected it.

This is for cancer patients, he remarked. You've got the hookup.

Of course i do, Wayne said. If it wasn't for him, i'd be dead right now.

That so? The Joker popped the Kadian and drank the water. The red paint around his lips rubbed off on the plastic. Any chance you could score me some Oxy 40s? He asked.

You shouldn't _fuck _around with those, Wayne said sternly. Trust me, i know.

Dramamine?

Keep it up.

That's what she said. Wayne turned away and bit the corner of his lip to keep from smiling. Go back to sleep. He turned on the television. What do you want to watch? The Joker shrugged again. Smiling still with the red paint smeared across his mouth.

Porn…

Wayne bit down harder but he felt the corners of his mouth turn up. He didn't know why. He didn't know. He picked up the remote and changed the channel to TLC.

Ah, why you gotta do me like that…the Joker mumbled.

What, you don't like Jon & Kate Plus 8? Wayne handed the remote to the Joker and walked out the door before the Joker saw the grin on his face. He didn't know whether it was the Percocet or the exhaustion or something about the Joker that had made him smile but he couldn't stop.

He wandered into the kitchen with the tiled floors and the stark marble counters that felt like ice brushing against his skin. All the power and all the pain was still pushing at him and his cell phone was ringing off in the distance somewhere because he hadn't shown up to work but he couldn't stop. He took the French press down from the shelf and the coffee out of the cabinet and he didn't know what he was going to do. He didn't know. The pain was there still pushing down into his veins but he was still smiling and he couldn't stop.


	6. Closer

A/N: This chapter contains some mature subject matter. And plenty of ridiculousness. But you knew that. And compared to the Livejournal fics, this is nothing. There probably could have been more leading up to this to establish…whatever. i'm not looking to make this fic a 20 chapter affair…plot really isn't the driving factor here.

* * *

Closer: Nine Inch Nails

By mid morning there were twelve missed calls on Bruce Wayne's cell phone. In the end he had to call the secretary that he was sleeping with and beg her to smooth things over. Which she did. She always did. He just didn't like begging but she always made him do it she always enjoyed making him do it and he did. Sacrificed his dignity for the sake of convenience. By mid morning he was sitting in his bedroom in front of the fire eating a bowl of Lucky Charms while the Joker was sprawled across the sofa picking the gravel out of the scrapes on his arms and they were talking. He was sitting there high as a kite off of Tylox eating Lucky Charms and talking to the Joker and _talking_ to the man who was tearing down the city that he slaved to protect who had taken so much from him. But Wayne couldn't stay away. He couldn't.

He was just looking for answers but the Joker didn't seem to have any.

Can you at least tell me who you are? Wayne asked. The Joker laughed and the handcuffs clinked against each other metallic and a drop of blood appeared at his wrist.

That's nothing interesting.

It's not? Wayne handed the Joker a paper towel. The Joker pressed it against the wound on his wrist and the red soaked in.

Nope. It's everything after that. The sunlight was slatting in through the shades and across the floors. One of the lines ran up the sofa and cut across the Joker's cheek illuminating the red and the blood clinging there to the scars. Underneath the paint there were shadows under his eyes and his skin was pale. Underneath the paint he looked very young.

Do you want some cereal, Wayne asked him. The Joker shook his head. Do you want anything. Wayne asked. Persisting. i can get whatever you want. The Joker shook his head again.

i'm fine. There was a faint tremble starting in his hands but Wayne could only see it when he wasn't moving.

No you're not. You haven't eaten in days. That's why you're shaking.

i know, the Joker said wearily. Why the hell do you care.

i couldn't tell you, Wayne replied.

Why do you care what happens to me. The Joker looked at Wayne. He'd painted his face again and his fingers were covered in white and black streaks. Wayne wasn't sure just how he'd managed to do it with the handcuffs on.

What's the point of doing that, Wayne asked. i already know what you look like. The Joker shrugged.

i was bored. There were bruises and pinpricks covering his forearms. This is a nice ashtray, The Joker said, pointing to the crystal ashtray on the coffee table.

Thanks. The sun shone through it and cast speckles of light across the bedroom. It was beautiful.

Why do you have it. The Joker pulled a perfectly rolled joint from his trench coat_. i already know what you look like i already know._

i bang a lot of models, Wayne explained. Most of them like to smoke after sex.

Really. What's that like.

What?

Banging lots of models. The Joker put the joint up to his mouth and took a lighter from his pocket.

It's all right. i get laid twice a week on average. It depends.

Yeah, by strung out little anorexic bitches who'll suck your dick for a fifth of Regalia Gold and ride home in a private jet…He took a long pull off the joint and it crackled like a popping coal.

Exactly. What's wrong with that.

Nothing's wrong with that, Bruce Wayne. i'm sure it's fun. i just think it's funny that as far as getting tail is concerned, the only difference between you and me is that i pay my whores five hundred an hour and you pay your whores in a night on the town. Wayne shrugged.

i guess you're right. And you know what? It's worth it. The Joker smiled.

i'm not denying that. You wanna hit this? Wayne shook his head.

That's not really my thing.

It should be, the Joker said. It would probably do you a lot of good. He breathed out and puffed a perfectly round ball of smoke into the air. Wayne felt his hands clench into fists there was a small eye of anger growing somewhere down deep and he didn't know why. The Joker always did that to him and he didn't know why.

You're a wreck, you know that? Wayne's voice rose a little bit but he wasn't shouting. You're just an overgrown street punk with no cause and no direction

i need direction, the Joker mumbled, blowing out a perfect smoke ring. It drifted back and into the light and broke apart.

-and everything is just a sick, weird joke to you. Life is just a joke to you.

Bingo. Now you're catching on.

Well it's not to me, Wayne said. All i'm trying to do is _help_ people. These people. i just wanted to show them that someone cares. That i would fight on their side. But ever since i started this whole Protector-of-Gotham charade everything has gone from bad to worse to hell on fucking earth.

Please, the Joker sighed, you've been off your game ever since i torched your little oh-so-unavailable girlfriend

Shut up. Wayne put the cereal bowl on the table.

The one you were bird-dogging for a while…what was her name again? Wayne stood up and swung and clocked the Joker so hard that his head snapped back and he fell off the couch. Wayne hauled him up by his collar and held him there they were doing it again with the Joker taunting him and he was blinded by rage throwing punches but he couldn't stop.

She was mine, he growled. And you. You single-handedly ruined any chance i had at a normal life with her-

A normal life. The Joker chuckled. Oh believe me, you gave up that chance a long time ago. Around the same time you started creeping around Gotham's rooftops dressed like a flying mammal- Wayne pressed his thumbs down on the Joker's throat.

She was mine, you ratfuck piece of shit. He pressed down hard breaking the tiny blood vessels that would form bruises in the shape of his fingers. She was all i had, she was all that i had

Christ…the Joker looked at Wayne serenely looked at him choking as Wayne's hands closed around his throat and he looked bored. You think that she could've saved you? he asked softly. The Joker couldn't feel the pain couldn't feel Wayne's hands crushing his trachea he was numb and stupid from the morphine he couldn't feel it.

Yeah, just like that, the Joker gasped, picking at his belt buckle.

Knock it _off_, you sick fuck. Wayne held the Joker at arm's length and slammed him up against the wall choking numbed and stupid from the morphine in his veins.

Look at me and tell me that you don't want me, the Joker said. Tell me that, and i'll stop. Wayne bit his lip. _Look at me_, the Joker ordered. Wayne looked at him against the wall with blood streaming from his lip. Wayne looked and he couldn't hide the want in his eyes couldn't hide the truth.

And then the Joker was kissing him and he was standing there kissing him completely undone, high as a kite holding the Joker's wrists

holding him there.

God. Wayne's heart was pounding up in his throat. Is this happening-not happening? He asked. i can't even...

Relax, the Joker mumbled. You're so high strung. His face was buried in Wayne's neck Wayne felt the paint smearing across his skin. And it must have startled something up because after a moment Wayne couldn't take it anymore and he had dragged the Joker to the floor and started pulling his clothes off pinned him to the floor by the handcuffs and pulled his clothes off. He wound the Joker's hair in his fingers and tugged hard until the Joker's head arched back and he closed his eyes he bit down on the Joker's skin and left bruises on his shoulders and the Joker smiled and took it. The smell of sweat and blood and gunpowder dripped off of him it snaked down between them and it surrounded them and they were both numb. Wayne took the key from his pocket and reached for the handcuffs.

No, the Joker said, leave them on.

Fine, whatever gets you off-

Shut up and tell me what you want me to do, the Joker growled, tugging at Wayne's belt. So Wayne told him.

The skinny little girls that he brought home. They fucked him like they were fucking a couch fucking another bottle of Crown Royal but they never wanted him. The Joker fucked like an animal. He fucked like a god. Like he wanted it more than anything else. And the Joker of all people turned out to be a very good listener. He took direction. He took everything Wayne had and threw it right back at him threw it back into his face knelt there in front of him and begged. He begged like a dog.

Hit me, he kept saying. It's okay. _Hit me_.

So Wayne did. But he didn't hit that hard, not nearly as hard as the Joker wanted him to. He could have but he didn't and he could have hit the Joker harder but he didn't want to hurt him. He didn't want to.

* * *

A/N: Sorry if you don't like slash. You're in the minority. But you probably should have read the title of this fanfic and seen it coming. Because that's what fanfics are for, peoples. Fantasizing about fine-ass motherfuckers getting it on. Pleeease don't take it seriously. To those of you who enjoy this shit, i apologize for the lack of explicitness...censorship is bullshit. Use yer imagination.


	7. Galaxie

A/N: Yes, this is a slash fic. Partially because gayness is hot, and partially because KInk comes so naturally to these guys. But don't worry, they're not going to get all sappy and ride off into the sunset. That's not how i roll. They're just taking some time off from the pressures of hero/villain life to get fucked up, watch Netflix, and screw. That's what most people do on their days off, anyway: get fucked up, watch Netflix, and screw. It's rad.

Warning: Hey so this chapter is sort of gross...but if you're still reading this fic after six chapters, i'm assuming you probably don't mind graphic stuff. Ha

* * *

Hello, Goodbye/Galaxie: Blind Melon

When Wayne awoke from his opiate coma, cold light was cutting in through the window and the Joker wasn't there. He was not passed out on the sofa where Wayne had left him, where they had both fallen asleep sweaty and exhausted while the coals crackled down in the fireplace.

Wayne sat up and cracked his neck and checked the clock. He'd been asleep for three and a half hours. Wayne stood up slowly and picked his shirt up from the floor. He waited for the pain to nag at him to race up and down his nerves but it didn't come. The night before, as they lay on the sofa the Joker asked him if he regretted what he'd done.

No, Wayne had said. i don't.

_i don't regret it _

_ i don't regret it i _

_ do not regret it._

Oddly enough, when Wayne thought of regret, when he thought of guilt, the first thing that sprang to his mind was the dent in the hood of his father's Galaxie- where he'd slammed the Joker's head into the metal. He thought of the puddles of blood on the back seats. He'd have to rip out the material the Original Material and reupholster the entire thing.

Of all the cars in his life, Wayne's father had loved the Galaxie the most.

The pain began to creep up on him up through his limbs but it was dull and bearable and it took him by surprise, to wake up and feel Better instead of Worse. To not know or care what happened to the People of Gotham that day. The bruise on Wayne's jaw was deep blue and dark but it didn't hurt as much and the open wounds were slowly healing over into the other scars into the crisscrosses of purple and pink and white that tracked up and down his body. The laceration on his arm still needed stitches. It was about two inches long and deep and the edges of the wound were jagged. But he was healing.

He felt better than he had in weeks.

The bathroom door was open and the light was on. The Joker still hadn't eaten anything and had already been dosed up on the finest morphine money could buy, so Wayne wasn't really surprised when he found the Joker sitting half-conscious on his bathroom floor vomiting in his toilet. He leaned against the doorframe. His knuckles ached and he didn't want to deal, but at least he was only dealing with pain and pain never

lied. At least it was open and honest and easily fixed and he knew how to work with it. He of all people knew how to deal when things got messy every now and then. The percocet was wearing off he was coming down and it was leaving him but he wasn't afraid. He knew that the Joker probably felt fifty times worse.

That many times at least.

And the pity crept up on Wayne and he went over.

How's it going, champion.

The Joker laughed weakly.

That's funny. i didn't know that you had a sense of humor, he said. He looked a hell of a lot worse than the day before. Bruce Wayne's got a sense of humor, everybody, the Joker went on. Boys and girls, there's hope for our tragic hero yet. His skin was bleached white even beneath the paint and the shadows under his eyes were darker than bruises.

Do you want me to leave. Wayne asked. The Joker shrugged.

i don't care.

Do you want me to leave or not. If you want some company, that's okay too. i'll do whatever you want. The Joker rolled his eyes, but then Wayne saw something in him that struck anomalous, Wayne

could see that the Joker did want him to stay there. He didn't seem upset or anxious or anything like that, but there was something else that Wayne couldn't quite read. He glanced at the door and back and the flicker of pity rose up so he stayed where he was. A few seconds later the Joker retched and spat up a thin stream of bile, making Wayne's heart clench in sympathy. He rested his hand on the back of the Joker's head for a moment and pulled some toilet paper off the roll.

You know that's fucking disgusting, he remarked. Here.

Sure is. The Joker smiled like it was nothing and wiped his mouth. i'm sorry about this, by the way...

Don't apologize; i was just making an observation, Wayne told him. i've seen a man's kneecaps explode and spray chips of bone everywhere; puking doesn't even bother me anymore. He stood up and turned the cold water tap on at the sink. As he filled a glass half full the water ran across the cuts on his fingers. It burned. The percocet was wearing off he was coming down hard sinking.

Wayne put the glass where the Joker could reach it and went over to the medicine cabinet. He opened it and took out a needle and the hydrogen peroxide and a roll of surgical thread.

You took the cuffs off, the Joker said suddenly. Why.

Your wrists were bleeding, Wayne sat on the edge of the bathtub. You've been wearing those handcuffs for almost two days.

So you trust me?

Sort of. Wayne shrugged. That, and right now i could knock you down by pushing you. The Joker nodded once in acknowledgement, didn't try to deny it. He was shaking visibly now but only just and his face was slicked with sweat and the paint was dripping off his jaw, pulling lines of black down through the white then dripping off. He shone slick.

Then without warning the Joker gagged and started throwing up again, so Wayne reached out and pulled the curtain of hair away from the his face and held it. For a minute he didn't stop he was coughing and dry heaving and he couldn't stop

Take it easy, Wayne said gently.

i'm all right. The Joker took a deep breath and winced. Ahhh fuck _me, _he hissed. Wayne rested his free hand on the Joker's back, moved it in a slow circle around his shoulder blades. He could feel the Joker's ribs under the skin. He had gotten thinner over the months, but all the muscles in his shoulders stood out, his arms were hard and prison-ripped from years of throwing punches.

That morphine got right on top of you, didn't it. Wayne i think i've got some cyclizine around here somewhere, he said as he got to his feet. It should be enough to stop the nausea so you can rest.

Sure. The Joker flushed the toilet and moved back a little. That would be swell.

It's intramuscular, Wayne told him. Where do you want me to do it?

My arm. The glass scraped against the tiles as the Joker picked it up and drank.

You worried about me? He was breathing hard but his mouth was twitching at the corners like he was trying not to laugh. i've been worse. This is nothing. The Joker put the glass down and rested his forehead on his knees. You think this is bad? Just a fucking. Skinned knee on the goddamn playground, he said. That's all this is. He was still coughing and his lungs crackled.

You're crazy.

No i'm not, the Joker said. i'm_ not_.

Okay, you're not, Wayne sighed. But you're dehydrated and your glucose levels are probably in the fucking negatives by now. i can help you feel better, if you'll let me. He pulled the gloves over his hands they were the powdered kind that he hated. The powder stuck to his fingers and left white fingerprints over everything he touched like ghost fingerprints over everything he touched.

Do you care about me.

i think i've made that pretty obvious, Wayne said. Take your shirt off. He retrieved the vial of cyclizine and took a hypodermic needle from the top shelf. The wrapper crackled under his fingers as he tore the plastic away as he lined everything up on a tray and knelt in front of the Joker.

Do you.

Yes, Wayne said, defeated. i do. i can't help it _You wanted me actually wanted me and you don't judge me like She did you're still a monster but you don't judge_

You don't think i deserve this. The Joker unbuttoned his shirt, looking at Wayne curiously still despite the tired glaze over his eyes.

Nobody deserves it. Wayne peeled the cover from the vial and cleaned it before sticking the needle into the stopper. I've been there. Nobody deserves to hurt like that.

Nobody? The Joker watched as Wayne tipped the vial upside down to fill the barrel, watched him draw the needle from the stopper snap the plastic twice with his forefinger and depress the plunger. Wayne tried to ignore the Joker's staring as he cleaned his skin with peroxide.

Did you want me to leave you in that alley. He slid the needle into the deltoid muscle of the Joker's left arm he'd done so many injections since becoming Batman that it had become automatic. The Joker didn't say anything. Are you glad that you're not dead, Wayne persisted. Are you even glad that i helped you. The Joker sighed and leaned forward until his head was resting on the edge of the toilet seat. Wayne noticed how tired he looked. He looked worn down. The Fight still shone from his dark eyes but he looked worn down.

i'm sorry. Wayne capped the needle and set it down. You're all fucked up and i'm sitting here questioning you...i'm sorry. He pressed his thumb against the tiny circle of blood on the Joker's arm. Look, Wayne continued, i know that i didn't have to save you. And i know that i can't fix you, or change who you are. But i'm helping you because i want to.

Are you ashamed of that. The Joker's voice was soft and worn and wrecked.

Of what.

That you want to help me. That you always try to help who you can. The Joker raised his head and looked at Wayne really looked at him. You don't have to be ashamed of that. Wayne stared at him.

You have no idea how strange that sounds. i mean, coming from you. _Coming from someone like you you're still a monster but you don't judge me _

i suppose i should even thank you, the Joker replied.

Should you? Wayne asked him. The Joker shrugged.

i might. We'll see.

Okay. Wayne trailed his fingers down the Joker's white forearm to rest them lightly on his hand. It wasn't just pity, you know, Wayne said quietly. Pity wasn't the only thing that saved you. The Joker's eyebrow arched. You intrigue me, Wayne went on. You always have. And i always felt that...

What.

Nothing.

What did you feel? The Joker's fingers suddenly twined around his own and squeezed, twice, so that Wayne more _felt _the urgency behind the question than heard it. He returned the pressure but was unable to look the other man in the eye.

A pull, he said at last. i always felt a pull. i was drawn to you. Am drawn to you. The Joker's gaze fixed on him burned so much he felt it could set him alight, but Wayne found he could not meet it all he could do was focus on the bathroom floor and hold the Joker's hand until he realized that he should probably clean up the bathroom and tend to the wound on his arm.

The Joker smiled weakly and watched as Wayne tossed the dirty needle at the trashcan across the room. It landed squarely without hitting the rim. And the crowd goes wild.

The Joker laughed but he was still breathing too fast like he'd just run for miles without stopping and he was still running. Like his body was starting to betray him. And part of him was human. Not all of him, but part. Not like he was hiding the pain but that he (wanted needed couldn't feel) it pushing at him coupling with exhaustion until it was almost too late until his physical self started to crumble beneath him. But his anger was there and his will was still there. Wayne had to remind himself that the Joker was used to it that he'd chosen a life of suffering and he would be all right. He would be all right.

Try to drink some more water, Wayne said to him. You need it. The Joker picked up the glass and drank a little, setting it back down after a few sips.

i can't, he said quietly, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.

That's okay. Wayne sat back against the wall pulled the gloves off over his hands he could feel the white sticking to his skin.

Come here, he said softly. The Joker scooted back across the floor and sat beside him. They were so close that their knees were touching so close that the smell of blood and sweat and gunpowder sank into him. The Joker glanced up at Wayne and saw the look on his face.

For fucksake, the Joker sighed. Cut that shit out. i'm fine. He looked at Wayne again and grinned. i have you, i'll be fine.

i know, Wayne said. i know. i just. His voice cracked so he shut up and his hand moved all on its own to rest just above the Joker's knee. He felt the Joker's weight against him felt the Joker relenting, sinking into him he felt the Joker's head on his shoulder on _his shoulder _and he wanted it there. The Joker was still shaking, Wayne could feel the tremor running through them both. But his breathing began to even out and he wasn't coughing hard anymore. Wayne got his other arm around the Joker's shoulders and hugged him a little closer.

Are you okay? He asked. The Joker nodded.

Do you need anything?

He shook his head.

Are you lying to me?

Head shake.

Good. Just…sit here for a minute. Wayne disentangled one of his arms and took the surgical needle and thread from the edge of the bathtub. He threaded the needle after several attempts and poured a stream of peroxide over the wound. It bubbled into the exposed flesh, stinging. He bit his lip.

The Joker watched him fumble with the stitches.

You're fucking it all up, he remarked. Give it here. Wayne relinquished the needle. The white powder made a little puff in the air as the Joker snapped a glove over his hand.

Wayne barely felt the needle dip into his skin, despite the unsteady twitch in the Joker's fingers.

You do trust me, the Joker remarked. i could stick this needle into your eye right now.

You could, Wayne said softly. But you won't. i know you won't. The Joker didn't say anything more. He just sat in silence with his head resting on Wayne's shoulder and the needle at his white fingertips, making a row of tiny, perfectly spaced stitches that Wayne could barely see.


	8. The Ballad of Moose Bruce

a/n: So i wrote this fic for myself after years of lusting over B/J (read: Bale/Ledger), i didn't know there were other twisted shippers out there who dig this shit. i salute you all. Pervs. Anyways, the next chapter will be the last. Just a wrap-up. No more. Thank you, readers.

**Update 08/08/12: **Yeah. So. If there are any folk out there still reading this shit, rest assured that it will be completed. Eventually. i know it's been a long time, but a while back RL interfered and i lost the groove. Now i'm trying to get it back. Not sure if anybody really gives a goddamn but whatever...i really want to finish this. It will be done. **  
**

* * *

How do you feel.

Jim crackin' dandy, the Joker mumbled into Wayne's shirt collar. Wayne smiled.

No, really. Do you still feel sick, he asked.

Nope. The Joker shifted around and sat up a little straighter. i feel better. Not great, but better. How about you.

Same, Wayne said. The Joker stretched and looked up at him.

But at least we're not out there in the snow running from the cops, right?

Right. Wayne reached above his head and turned up the dimmer switch, illuminating the white bathroom walls

illuminating the mirror and the Joker's translucent skin. He'd stopped coughing and he wasn't shaking as hard but he could barely keep his eyes open. Wayne kissed the side of the Joker's neck.

Come lie down on the bed. We can watch Animal Cops.

Animal Cops? The Joker sniggered. Jesus H Christ.

Come on, Wayne persisted. i'm tired, you're tired, let's just go lie down.

Okay, the Joker said. Sure. Wayne knelt in front of him and waited while he pulled himself together, he had to get up slowly because the morphine had made him dizzy.

i. Wayne started to speak but he felt his cheeks flush. He could feel the Joker's eyes on him, boring straight into him.

What. The Joker shook his hair out of his face, grinning. What. Wayne bit his lip and looked at the floor.

i could never condone what you do, he said at last. But...i'd give anything to have your grit. i really would. The Joker chuckled softly.

That's sweet. He got up on his knees and cracked his neck. Wayne could hear the vertebrae popping. He put his hands under the Joker's arms and pulled him to his feet where he stood there swaying gently,

like he was standing on a boat.

* * *

They went back into the bedroom and the Joker collapsed in the middle of the bed. The television was still on. Wayne sat on the mattress and popped two percocet before he took a Valium from the bottle on his bedside table.

Take this. i don't want to give you any more morphine. He dropped the blue pill into the Joker's outstretched hand. The Joker didn't move. He was lying flat on his back with his hair fanned out across the silk sheets with his shirt half-buttoned. Wayne thought that he looked beautiful. He pressed a bottle of gatorade into the Joker's other hand and tugged at the Joker's sleeve.

Your shirt's really filthy, he said, plucking at the tiny buttons. It's got blood and puke and dirt all over it and it's sticking to you. You should take it off. The Joker ignored him. Just sit up for a second, Wayne pleaded. You have to help me a little.

The Joker flinched as he sat up a few inches. Fuck, he hissed. Wayne pulled the Joker's shirt off and folded it.

Does your stomach hurt still. The Joker nodded and crumpled back into the bed. He looked pale and tired and ill, but Wayne could see that old anger in him, that strength. Wayne wondered exactly what it would take to bring him all the way down. Will you eat something later? Wayne asked him.

Yeah, the Joker whispered. Later. i'll fix up that shrapnel wound on your back too, it needs an ass load of stitches.

Thanks. Just try and get some rest, okay. Wayne pulled the sheet up around the Joker's chest. Is there anything else i can do. The Joker opened his eyes a little and shrugged. He caught Wayne's hand and held it to the bare skin on his chest, over his heart.

You've done enough already. And i told you that i'll be all right, so stop looking at me like that.

i'll look at you any way i want, Wayne said. The Joker smirked. Wayne crawled over to the other side of the mattress, and the Joker moved closer to him without saying anything. His head was on Wayne's shoulder again and Wayne still wanted it there God he wanted it there that same

paint

blood

sweat

gunpowder

clinging to his skin. Wayne could see himself lying in that huge bed alone two days from then, longing for that smell. He saw himself sitting in his office in his car on his couch alone, missing that smell. Wayne propped himself up on his elbow and ran his fingertips down the side of the Joker's neck down the length of his arm. He was covered in bruises and scabs, his hair was matted with dried blood and paint. He was still prison-ripped, finely muscled, he was still a hot mess.

The hottest mess.

When i have to take you back, Wayne started, but the Joker interrupted him.

No, he said. Don't think about that. Don't. Poison what little time we have worrying about tomorrow, or the day after. We have what, like thirty-six hours left?

But

So after that, what happens then will happen then. The Joker took the Valium, unscrewed the cap on the gatorade and drank some of it. We're big boys. We'll deal with it. But this is what's happening now. Just enjoy it, and let everything else go. He took Wayne's hand and squeezed it. Can you do that for me please.

So Wayne made the best decision he'd made in a long time; he decided to shelve his pride and take the Joker's advice for once, he said:

_Okay._

* * *

For the next few hours they hardly moved. The lay there side by side on the huge bed, resting, keeping warm. Sometimes they talked, but mostly they just watched TV. At some point Wayne realized that he was fighting to keep his eyes open that he was falling asleep that the gauzy pill high had pushed him over the edge, into a half-state between consciousness

and unconsciousness. He felt the room slow down and turn hazy blue saw the Joker lying next to him shirtless watching Animal Planet. Wayne caught himself wondering how they'd reached that point, how they'd gone from hackle-raised blind hatred to amity so quickly. He didn't come up with any answers, and he didn't want them.

He knew that it wouldn't last. It would not last.

Wayne put his arm around the Joker's thin shoulders. If it were up to me i'd never go back, he breathed. i would never. The Joker smiled and kissed him.

That's just the percs talking. He carded his fingers through Wayne's hair before huddling up against him.

It was there in that semiconsciousness that Wayne finally found a little breath of peace, where

the four white walls in his bedroom formed the borders of his plane of perception where

he had no responsibilities and nobody expected anything of him where

he and the Joker could spend their days lying in bed, watching television and talking and fucking themselves stupid.

Wayne had to admit that it felt good to just lie there utterly anesthetized, to be with somebody who cared and who understood. He didn't think about the past or the future, and he did not think about Her. Instead he closed his eyes and imprinted that feeling of heady tranquility in his mind and in his heart so that when he did have to go back to being Batman, he had something to light him from within to

keep him warm on those frigid nights on the ice-slicked streets of Gotham City. Wayne knew that they would have to go back.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

All that mattered to him then was being there, and being with. It felt right to just be there, and be with.

_He's over the woods and through the trees_  
_He catches the crooks and kills the thieves and afterwards he laughs_  
_He cracked the plot of the evil man_  
_At the sight of his face the henchmen ran_  
_And afterwards he laughed_

_And oh what a silly world it is_

_With no superheroes born to it_

_He's off the hook and fancy free_  
_He can't see the forest for the trees_  
_At life's allure, he laughs_  
_But soon, he sees the hill_  
_Retreat, retreat, retreat until he passes past the past_

_And oh what a silly world it is_  
_To be so miserable over something inane as this_

_He's out for good and off the pills_  
_He can't pay rent, but better still he'd rather have a laugh_  
_But soon he sees the hole_  
_Defeat, defeat, defeat_  
_Your role was not to be the man_

_And oh what a silly world it is_  
_But still, and against his will he is born to it_

_And all he'll ever know_  
_the roses and rainbows_  
_And never knowing what he had_  
_Another night another time_  
_And oh, you'll never know the way the old men go_  
_To see it all so uniform, to be wise beyond your years_

_So smell the rose, you'll see it grow_  
_Make love to those be friend or foe_  
_Get up and go, the rooster crows_  
_And touch your toes, just like so_  
_Your life's a boat - you have to row_  
_Collect and stow the things that glow_  
_And write these things down all in prose_  
_Tomorrow's never there until you are_

_So a silly world it is..._  
_But still every single day how we are born to it_  
_So what a silly world it is..._  
_But still every day you should know you are not bored of it_

"The Ballad of Moose Bruce"- Born Ruffians


End file.
